


The Moon Isn't a Lamp

by After_Baker_Street



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Crack, Caterpillar!Hamish, Crack, Fluff and Crack, M/M, Moth!John
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-19
Updated: 2013-07-19
Packaged: 2017-12-20 18:11:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/890286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/After_Baker_Street/pseuds/After_Baker_Street
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Moth!John and Caterpillar!Hamish walk home from school, discussing the moon.</p>
<p>Crack. All crack.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Moon Isn't a Lamp

**Author's Note:**

  * For [teabeforewar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/teabeforewar/gifts).



John flitted closer to Hamish, who tottered clumsily along the sidewalk on his many legs. The day was bright and beautiful, their walk home from school sunny and clear, the sky a crystal, cloudless blue. A spike of pain tore through him and he muttered under his breath,

“Damn my wing.” It was quiet enough that Hamish couldn’t hear but nonetheless, the canny little boy saw the grimace on John’s face as he settled down to walk instead of fly. John hated that Hamish saw it, but knew that his sweet son had only known his father this way: disabled. He swallowed hard and asked kindly,

“What did you learn at school today?”

Hamish actually stopped walking, he was thinking so hard. John chuckled to himself and knelt close to look into Hamish’s face.

“We-learned-maths-and-read-a-story.” Hamish blurted. John couldn’t keep himself from smiling, though he hoped it didn’t seem patronizing. Hamish was awfully clever and recognized and resented patronizing behaviour from adults.

“Wow, that’s great, you’re really excellent at maths and reading, so that must have been a good day. Anything else?” He brushed a wing behind Hamish, urging him on, back towards home.

“Oh, yes Da, we learned ‘bout the moon.” John nodded and they headed towards Baker Street.

“The moon?” John asked absently, thinking of what they might have for dinner. Hamish had loved fresh maple leaves, and he had a dwindling stock at home.

Hamish looked up at his dad, eager to impress.

“They said it was like a giant lamp up in the sky, but I told them what it really was.”

John’s heart began to break, just a little. But it was a feeling he knew well, a familiar twinge that twisted in his heart every time he looked into his son’s brilliant silvery blue eyes.

“What’s that?” John asked, tone awkwardly bright in his ears.

Hamish tugged his scarf a little closer and whispered conspiratorially. “Yes, we know it’s really Father, don’t we?” John nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

“He flew away one night, into the sky. He said goodbye to you and flew to the moon.” John’s wing wrapped closer around his tiny son and he croaked out, “Yes, that’s just right.”

He knew one day he’d have to tell Hamish the whole story, about the dreadful spider Moriarty. He’d tell him how he’d spun a web not even Sherlock could escape, turned the whole world against him. So Sherlock had flew into a terrible gale. John had seen Sherlock’s wings ripped and torn, had seen him lose consciousness and be swept far, far beyond where John could reach.

This half-story, fairy-tale version had been told to Hamish over time by Molly and Sarah, with bits filled in by John. It was easier than telling the boy that his father had killed himself after facing his worst enemy.

“It’s Father,” Hamish went on, mostly to himself. “And one day he’ll fly back. He’ll have so many things to tell us, Da.” John closed his eyes against the weight of grief pressing against him.

“He’ll come back, Da. Won’t he?” Hamish couldn't even remember the man he called Father.

“Hamish,” he answered, voice shaking with emotion. “That’s not how it works, you don’t come back. He won’t come back.” Little Hamish shook his head mightily.

“No, Da! He’s comin’ back! I know it. He’s had...lots of important work to do.” His eyes shone with excitement. “He’s fighting bad guys!” Hamish made tiny swiping motions in the air, like the action heroes he’d seen in movies. “And solving miss trees! He’s saving us, Da. Saving the whole wide world!”

John nodded, maybe too vigorously. He might have wiped a tear from the corner of his eye while pretending to be scratching an itch.

“Isn’t he, Da? Isn’t he?” The joy in Hamish’s voice was impossible to ignore, especially as he started to skip along home. John laughed weakly and hopped alongside his excitable son.


End file.
